


Three Stories

by Talullah



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:39:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2193831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreams more real than reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Stories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jaiden_S](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaiden_S/gifts).



> Many thanks to lady_elina for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Written for the [International Day of Slash](http://www.libraryofmoria.com/a/idos.html), for jaiden_s, who requested Fëanor/Irmo, red, resist, remorse.
> 
>  **Prompts:** fanfic100 prompt 098: writer's choice. contrelamontre May 11th 2008 prompt: stories.
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

I am the keeper of stories, of all stories. Nothing escapes the threads of my looms but some tapestries had better never see the light of day. Sometimes I visit my 'secret archives' as my husband likes to call them, and I tell these stories to myself, to keep them from fading completely into oblivion. Sometimes I even tell them to Mandos later on, as we lay in each other's arms. But not these three...

**RED**

The first time was a dream, only a dream and that could not count as a sin, could it? After all, one cannot be held responsible for whatever stray thoughts and desires come to their dreams. But my law-brother is the master of dreams. When one night my hands started weaving blotches of red that slowly took the form of a room where the walls were covered in red silk and mirrors and an elf lay prostrate on the bed, his jet hair partially covering his muscled, naked back, I immediately knew I was weaving a dream and not a real event.

But why? My tapestries were meant only for what was real and dreams only came into them if they were of particular relevance. Those that were sent by Irmo as warning or prophecy. When the elf moved on the bed I involuntarily gasped: it was Fëanáro, the troublemaker Finwë had spawned. He stretched languorously and beckoned with a lazy hand for a figure until then hidden in the shadows to draw closer. The threads collapsed and the tapestry became again a blotch of red. My hands shook as I hastily covered that loom and pushed it into a corner: one thing I knew - the figure in the shadows was not Nerdanel. I told myself to forget the episode, but that night I could not respond to my husband's affections with my usual enthusiasm. The unsettling images had been fire-branded into my mind.

**RESIST**

Not long after, another tapestry came to life under my fingertips. The same elf, the same pose, but this time the room was sober and plain and there was a distinct feel of reality to the whole scene. Fëanáro struggled in his sleep, his lips and limps moving in silent protest. By his side Nerdanel started to wake with her husband's movements. She shook him but he remained trapped in his dream for a while longer until with a shout he sat up, pushing Nerdanel and the bedding back, panting with an expression of sheer terror on his face.

My fingers worked frantically of their own accord, but my attention was scattered through details that I would have rather ignored. Fëanáro's bodily state, his private parts swelled in pleasure long before Nerdanel touched him; the dark figure looming in the shadows... Fëanáro's confusion and panic transformed into a vigorous and quick act that Nerdanel tolerated more than enjoyed; the tear that rolled down Fëanáro's cheek as later he tried to hold Nerdanel in his arms, whispering apologies into her hair.

**REMORSE (where there is none)**

I thought and I thought and then I thought more as day after day the scenes of seduction repeated themselves before my eyes, but I could not think of anything to do. I knew what was happening, and who was behind it but I could not fathom why.

The secret was eating me away and my darling Mandos's questions filled me with fear... Fear that I might say something that could not be erased. For a few weeks I tortured myself with this knowledge that I had not sought but then I decided to act.

"For the first time in his life I feel pity for the prideful son of Finwë, law-brother," I said as I approached Irmo in his gardens.

"Have you no remorse for the pain that you are inflicting on him with your desires? And what about your own? Imagine that your wife finds my tapestries one of these days."

"A threat? Little Vairë has claws..."

His smirk was too much to bear. I let down my cloak of flesh and shone with my full rage and glory.

 

 

"Mock me not, law-brother!"

His nostrils flared. "What is my business to you, law-sister?"

"Nothing good will come out of this, Irmo. Tell me why you are doing this," I said, returning to myself.

His jaw twitched but he complied.

"I desire him. Does that shock you?"

"Yes! You are both married! And besides, even if you were not nothing good will ever come out of mixing races."

Irmo snorted. "Vairë, you will learn much or at least I hope you will. There is more to life than timidity and obedience. And he has the fire of Eru in him... He may struggle with his desire but I am not cruel when I show him the truth in his heart... and in his loins. Fëanáro was made for far more than he is now. I will help him reach glory even if in the end I lose him. It will be worth it."

The world suddenly turned black and closed around me. The things I saw, I could never tell them. Let my hands speak for me and Irmo's folly never be known or bear fruit.

 

 _Finis_  
_June 2008_


End file.
